


Maybe I Do(n't) Want The Furball

by inanismortem, spymursclause



Category: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Cats, F/M, Modern Era, Rain, Sort Of, Veterinary Clinic, it's more like a shelter, there's slight mention of being 'high' because of catnip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 01:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20921699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanismortem/pseuds/inanismortem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spymursclause/pseuds/spymursclause
Summary: “Local man walks into animal shelter and asks about a kitten but doesn’t want to hold him,” Priscilla says sarcastically, holding the kitten out towards him again. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with him, try it.”“It’s a furball.” Heath is failing very much to make any of his insults sound like… Insults. With a sense of horror, he realizes he may even sound slightly affectionate.FE rarepair week day three: Cats





	Maybe I Do(n't) Want The Furball

It’s pouring sheets out in the streets and Heath can barely see two feet in front of him as the rain pelts his umbrella. The drenched kitten he has tucked in his jacket mewls quietly as he stops for a moment to pull out his phone to check his location.

He’s gone so far off schedule but he can’t bring himself to care as he squints at the blue lines that tell him where to go. It’s too noisy to hear the instructions and he hasn’t brought headphones either, what a bother. 

Jamming his phone back into his pocket, he looks mournfully at his ruined sneakers and wonders if he should just go home and brave the smell of wet cat for a day before trying to find the shelter again. He glances down again, catches the kitten sink its claws into his sweater when thunder booms over them and decides against it. 

His apartment allows pets but he’s not sure if he wants something with claws and teeth and the potential to break his things. Shelter it is.

He’s not sure how long he wanders around for but  _ finally _ he sees the shelter entrance, only to see someone step out and lock the door. 

He’s vaguely horrified.

“Wait!” he shouts, running up the girl and she drops her keys, spinning around with what looks like mace clutched in one hand, other gripping the door handle like her life depends on it. 

They both freeze, eye contact unwavering until Heath puts up his hands in surrender and the kitten pokes its head out further with a plaintive mew.

“Sorry,” Heath huffs out, “I just really, need to drop off this kitten.” The girl relaxes a bit, leaning closer to inspect the kitten while adjusting her raincoat before she sighs, bending down to pick up her keys and pull the door open again.

The lights flicker on and she drops everything she’s carrying onto an armchair.

“I’m really sorry,” Heath says again, stepping in awkwardly, doing his best to wipe his waterlogged sneakers on the carpet at the entrance.

His shoes still make the squelching noise of irredeemable shoes but the girl doesn’t seem to mind, taking of her raincoat and hanging it on the nearest hook. She plucks the kitten from his chest, the kitten making one desperate grab at his drawstrings but Heath isn’t paying attention, doing his best not to stare at her hair. 

It’s red, but not like blood. It’s pretty. 

“I’m Priscilla.” She’s deft with her hands, drying the kitten off quickly with a towel, easily dodging the angry nips and swipes of an irritated animal. There’s a gentle smile on her face as she boops it on the nose, patting it dry. 

“Heath,” he replies awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, turning it so it doesn’t seem like he’s staring at her. “Will it um, be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Priscilla answers, wrapping the now purring kitten in the towel and tucking it under her arm. “It’ll go into quarantine until a vet can check on it but thanks to you,” she smiles and Heath has to look away again, “it should be fine now that it’s not soaking wet and out in the rain.” 

Heath doesn’t know  _ why  _ his face is heating up like it is (he hopes he’s not catching a fever) but he coughs, shifting from one foot to another. Priscilla doesn’t seem to notice, disappearing through a door marked employees only before she pops back out, keys jingling as she picks them up and slips her raincoat back on. 

“The on site staff will take care of it,” she explains when Heath looks slightly confused at her leaving it alone so quickly. “Night shift will make sure it’ll be alright before the night vet arrives.” 

Heath nods again, not sure what to say except for stammering out a thanks (“No, thank  _ you _ , now it’s safe,” she had said in return, voice sing song and warm and he had blushed, so hard) before stumbling back out into the rain. 

He doesn’t expect to ever see them again.

* * *

But he does, tip toeing into the shelter a week later right before closing time even though he knows it’s kind of rude to do so but it’s quiet with not a lot of people and he likes it that way.

Priscilla raises an eyebrow — “We’re closing soon.” — but her voice isn’t harsh nor unwelcoming. Despite her words, she makes no moves to shoo him out. 

“I just, wanted to see if it was okay.”

“The kitten? He’s doing fine. He had fleas but he’s alright, apart from his attack all hands attitude.” Priscilla holds up her arm which are covered in lines of angry red with a chuckle.

“He,” Heath echoes, feeling inexplicably warm at knowing another piece of information about the kitten. “You look like you’ve been fighting a war.” He motions to her arm, noticing other various wounds that look much too big from the kitten; there are several older ones too.

Priscilla laughs, propping her head on her hand, brushing her hair out of her eyes before sliding her glasses down from her head.

“Everyday is a war day in a shelter. It’s not for the faint hearted. I’ve probably seen more blood than you have.” She peers over her glasses at him, tapping something into her computer at the same time before she asks him a question. “Do you plan to adopt him?”

Heath blinks.

“Him?”

“The kitten,” Priscilla clarifies, glancing at the clock, “because you’d have to wait until tomorrow at least, we don’t have time for paperwork right now.” 

“I-I—  _ No _ . I have no interest in the furball.”

Priscilla cocks an eyebrow again, staring at Heath almost judgmentally and Heath feels himself wilt under her gaze. He’s technically  _ not _ lying since he doesn’t plan to adopt the damn cat but he also… Really wants to make sure it’s okay. After all, he’s ruined a pair of sneakers for it.

“No interest,” Priscilla drawls almost mischievously, “and yet you run through the rain to make sure he’s safe and come back a week later, looking for him. You’re not a great liar.” 

Heath splutters and he’s turning red  _ again  _ (maybe it’s a late fever from the rain from earlier that week) but Priscilla ignores him and reaches down to pick something up, coming up with a furious mass of writhing claws and teeth. Priscilla barely flinches as he sinks his teeth into the fabric of her scrubs, holding him out towards Heath.

“Here.”

“Wait, no, I don’t  _ want  _ to hold him—” his protests dies on his tongue when Priscilla tucks the kitten against her chest, lending him a finger to chomp on. 

“Local man walks into animal shelter and asks about a kitten but doesn’t want to hold him,” Priscilla says sarcastically, holding the kitten out towards him again. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with him, try it.”

“It’s a furball.” Heath is failing very much to make any of his insults sound like… Insults. With a sense of horror, he realizes he may even sound slightly affectionate. 

“If you truly didn’t care about him, you would have let him die on the streets. Hold him for a moment, he won’t kill you.” Priscilla pauses. “You would be helping me if you did.”

Heath gingerly takes the kitten in his hands, expecting them to end up like Priscilla’s arms but the kitten sits obediently in his hands, curling his tail cutely around himself before letting out a plaintive mew. Heath groans, bending closer to examine him more closely now that he’s no longer a handful of sopping wet fur. 

He’s got striking green eyes, and a coat that’s much lighter than Heath expected. He’s cute. And fluffy. Heath opens his mouth to coo at him. 

He gets a paw in the mouth instead and Priscilla’s laughter rings out in the waiting room as he shrieks.

* * *

Heath refuses to adopt the kitten and  _ yet _ .

“Welcome,” Priscilla greets him dryly when he walks in for the fourth week in a row, “here to see the demon?”

“You just don’t know how to handle him,” Heath jokes even as Priscilla plops the significantly larger kitten on the countertop, receiving only a nip this time. “Are you still calling him various nicknames?”

“Yes.” Priscilla feeds the kitten a treat absentmindedly, clicking at something on her computer before shooting Heath a sidelong glance. “You do realize we are open at nine a.m., there’s no reason to come at six forty five  _ p.m. _ If this wasn’t customer service I would have throttled you by now.” 

Heath has learned, veterinary technicians are very jaded and tired when it comes to dealing with customers. 

“I’m sorry—” 

“Well,” Priscilla leans back in her chair, watching Heath play with the kitten, “at least it’s nice, seeing you. You make my day a little more pleasant.” Perhaps she says this without considering the meanings it could take and Heath burns. Again. 

Priscilla would never let him hear the end of it but Heath has been thinking about names for longer than he wants to. “Maybe we should name him Hyperion,” he blurts out, squinting at the kitten as the claws catches his hoodie. 

Priscilla does a little jerk at ‘we’ but recovers quickly, leaning forward again to flick the kitten’s tail. “God of heavenly light? Him?” Heath smiles a little, trying to contain his joy of knowing Priscilla knows what others would normally laugh at. 

“He’s an angel.”

“Just  _ adopt _ him for heaven’s sake. You make me, so tired.” There’s not bite in her voice like Heath’s heard aimed at other people when she repeats the exact same phrase. “I think you’d make a good cat owner,” she adds, softer. “He likes you and well,” she grins, “you even thought of a name for him.” 

Maybe, just maybe Heath has fallen in love with the little rascal but he really doesn’t know if he can handle the responsibility of another life after work. “Isn’t it too late for paperwork?” he asks plaintively and the look she throws him, is deadly enough to kill. 

“ _ Heath _ . Just come in tomorrow, but earlier.” Hyperion squeaks a bit when Heath’s fingers press just a little too hard when Priscilla says his name in a tone full of fondness. “I’ll do the paperwork beforehand so you won’t even have to wait that long just for the love of god  _ come in earlier _ .” 

And with that, she plucks Hyperion out of his hands and shoos him out.

* * *

Heath gets there an hour before closing, loosening his tie before stepping in, hoping this is early enough because work had run so much later than he expected. There’s significantly more staff on the floor, most of them clustered over at the desk, whispering in low voices with Priscilla who holds Hyperion in her hands. 

The kitten was surprisingly tame, licking Priscilla’s fingers and Heath thinks that if kittens could look high, Hyperion would be a poster boy for that. 

“I  _ cannot  _ hand him a kitten that just got into catnip-” he hears as he draws closer, Priscilla sounding vaguely horrified and he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly when everyone jumps away from the desk. 

“Hi.” His voice is much more suave and then he intends it to be and everyone falls silent.

Priscilla is red for the first time since they’ve met, her ears matching her hair.

“I… Listen,” she starts, Hyperion batting at her hair slowly. “He’s… I’m sorry.” Hyperion lets out pathetic mew, laying flat on his back as he stares up at Heath, eyes wide open, comically splayed out on top of Priscilla’s keyboard. Heath reaches down to pick him up anyways, laughing a little at the boneless mass Hyperion has seemed to become as the kitten flops this way and that.

“It’s fine, let’s do the paperwork first. If I can’t take him home today, I’ll come tomorrow, fifteen minutes before closing,” he jokes and the atmosphere changes almost immediately, murderous auras radiating off of Priscilla’s coworkers. 

He guesses they don’t take kindly to him making her close up late and he doesn’t blame them. 

Priscilla’s eyes flicker over his suit before she pushes a clipboard towards him, holding her hand out. Heath leans back, tucking Hyperion in the crook of his elbow before he starts filling out the empty fields, wincing when he feels claws poke through his suit.

“ _ Hey— _ ”

“ _ Mreow! _ ”

By the time Heath pushes the clipboard back towards Priscilla, Hyperion’s got a section of his suit in his mouth and is slowly but surely working a hole through it. Heath groans, lifting the kitten above his head while squinting at him, frowning.

“Maybe I don’t want him,” he says sarcastically while bringing Hyperion closer to his face, arms extending back out when Hyperion swipes for his nose. 

“Maybe you should just take him and go,” Priscilla shoots back cheekily, checking over the form. “He’s yours now, no take backs.”

“He’s high,” Heath points out dryly, setting him down on the countertop, “high as a kite.” As if to prove the point, Hyperion sticks his tail into his mouth and mewls again around it, blinking innocently. “What if I can’t deal with him?”

Priscilla hesitates and Heath  _ swears _ her coworkers draw ever closer, almost suffocating the both of them until she puts her head in her hands, ears red. 

“I… I’ll give you my phone number so you can ask me questions…?” Her voice is muffled by her hands but Heath manages to decipher her words just fine, feeling himself flush along with her ( _ goddammit _ ). “You don’t have to if you don’t want you can just leave him h—”

“I’lltakeit,” Heath blurts out much too quickly for his liking, tripping over his own words. “The number, and uh, the furball.”

Priscilla still doesn’t look at him, face buried in her hands until one of her coworkers slides over, slipping a piece of paper into Heath’s breast pocket with an impish grin. Her coworkers scatter, whispering excitedly amongst each other and Heath shifts from one foot to another.

“Maybe, maybe—” his voice is  _ too loud _ and  _ too high, _ “—I’ll come back in case he needs friends. To um, you know,” he struggles to gather his words, scrambling for his dictionary of acceptable phrases, “adopt more furballs.”

Priscilla looks up, still propping her face up with her hands with a shy grin, her blush mostly gone except for hints of pink on her cheeks.

“That would be great. It would be nice to see you again.”

“JUST ASK HIM OUT ALREADY, GO GET IT, PRI—”

Priscilla slams her head back into her hands and Heath wishes he could do the same.

“I’ll going get—  _ Get going _ ,” Heath hastily corrects himself. “Bye, Priscilla.” And he wishes saying her name didn’t make him feel so many things in his heart and stomach.

“Goodbye, Heath.” Priscilla’s smiling again and god Heath would be lying if he said he didn’t want to stay a bit longer to see her smile more but—

As if deciding he needs to be the centre of attention again, Hyperion launches himself off the countertop.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be really short but it ran away from me
> 
> Heath does some kind of private security job i guess? hence the suit


End file.
